Longing for Budapest
I want to cruise the Danube
from Switzerland to the Black Sea
drifting from one fairytale to the next.

I’m more interested in Vienna than
Paris thought I certainly wouldn’t
turn up my nose at the Louvre
and afternoon coffee on the Seine.

An overwater bungalow with a thatched
roof in the Fiji appeals
more than Bali, though the terraced
rice paddies are really something.

Thailand would be lovely.
But Vietnam’s beckoning is stronger.
A train from north to south.
My family has a history there.

Speaking of which — Ireland.
But Edinburgh shouts louder.
It’s wilder, I think. A little rough around
the edges, like my chosen home.

I was in Guatemala on an aid trip
fifty years ago this year.
I’d like to see it with these eyes.
That 17-year-old’s were perhaps too young.

The choices are limitless and overwhelming.
When at most. I can choose one. Maybe two.
My finite bank account is an officious clerk
refusing to stamp my passport so I can move on.